


Substitution

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: During Canon, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-14
Updated: 2006-06-14
Packaged: 2018-09-03 10:49:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8709481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Dean was fucking obsessed with his car.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Substitution

_**Prompt 179--Wincest**_  
**Your name:** [ ](http://impertinence.livejournal.com/profile)[**impertinence**](http://impertinence.livejournal.com/)  
**Fic title:** Substitution  
**Fandom:** Supernatural  
**Prompt:** 179\. Sam/other, possible Sam/Dean - so fuck Dean always having sex in the Impala on the road, Sam wants to have a go in the backseat. Point is, Dean catches him. Hijinks, or retroactive fucking, ensue. (note: I went for both. Not sure how it turned out.)  
**Word Count:** 7,302  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Notes:** This was supposed to be relatively small--as in, 2000 words. Somehow, it got to be 7000. I DO NOT KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED.  
  
Also, the het in this fic is relatively quick and painless, promise! The Wincest, on the other hand, spans several thousand words.   
  
  
  
|~|~|  
  
Dean was fucking obsessed with his car.  
  
He tidied the inside every day. He used that weird window cleaning stuff at the gas station. The other day, Sam caught him _shining the rims_ with $100 silver polish. He hadn’t seemed to understand that polish for silver wouldn’t work very well on steel hubcaps.  
  
The worst part was the girls. Every town, every truck stop, every tacky intersection with a couple of motels and an oyster bar, and there was Dean, flirting worse than the cheapest whore in the establishment.  
  
Sam hated it. He hated how the car _always_ smelled clean, no matter what demon muck they’d managed to gum up its interior with; hated how shiny the stupid thing was, like it’d just been through professional service, regardless of the fact that they had nowhere near that kind of money; and, most of all, he hated how easily girls agreed to have sex with Dean in the backseat.  
  
That’s always how he thought of it: “girls agreeing to have sex with Dean in the backseat.” Because the idea that it might not be the backseat, where neither of them sat anyway, or that it might not be a girl, fucked with Sam’s head in a way that he definitely didn’t want to consider.  
  
So it really wasn’t that unusual when after they’d exorcised a particularly bitchy ghost in Kilgore, Wisconsin, Sam climbed into the car, wrinkled his nose, and said, “Dean. There’s a red thong in your backseat.”  
  
Dean glanced back quickly, more interested in the problem of maneuvering the Impala through the rocky bluffs than in some girl’s underclothing. “So there is.”  
  
The youngest Winchester stared at him incredulously. “Right. And we’re just going to…what? Throw them away next time we stop for gas?”  
  
“Unless you wanna keep ‘em.” Dean didn’t even look at them again; his eyes stayed riveted on the road. “They’re what, fake satin? Not the best, but it’ll probably feel pretty good wrapped around your—“  
  
“ _Dean!_ ”  
  
“What?”   
  
“That’s disgusting,” Sam said flatly.  
  
Dean’s lips peeled back from his mouth in a half-sneer. “Says you.”  
  
“Whatever.” Dismissive, so that they wouldn’t have to talk about any late night hobbies of Sam’s. “The next time you decide to have sex, can you please make sure the girl doesn’t leave anything behind?”  
  
“Whoa, whoa.” Dean glanced away from the road, giving his brother a sly look. “Who said it was a girl?”  
  
“You’re sick!”  
  
But Sam was laughing.  
  
|~|~|  
  
Still, Dean needed to have something happen to him. A piano falling on his head would be nice, but somehow Sam didn’t think Dad would appreciate him killing off their perfect little soldier. So Sam settled on giving Dean a taste of his own medicine. The only problem was, that involved seducing a girl.  
  
The next town they arrived at was more a city than a town—large, inhospitable, and full of desperate girls. Sam knew that when Dean wanted to pick one up, he’d go to the nearest bar; but Sam, he had standards.  
  
Sam picked up girls at the _library._  
  
That old adage that “it’s always the quiet ones” was just about as true as could be, and he knew it. He wasn’t at all surprised when the tiny, thin brunette agreed to leave with him.  
  
“Wow, this is a really old car,” she said, climbing into the passenger’s seat.  
  
“Yeah…not sure how old, exactly, but it’s been in the family forever,” Sam admitted. He plopped down in the driver’s seat. Dean had given him permission to take the car to the library, opting to stay in the motel and “research”: in Dean-speak, find the nearest blonde and nail her. The library had closed at five-thirty, but Sam was betting on that not having occurred to Dean.  
  
“So, where are you taking me?” she asked in what Sam guessed was supposed to be a flirtatious manner.  
  
“Back to the motel. It should be empty,” Sam lied.  
  
They drove back in silence, their mutual acknowledgement of what they were about to do making conversation completely unneeded. When they arrived at the motel, Sam parked and exited, making a big show out of opening the girl’s door before heading over to unlock the room.  
  
Of course, he paused first and cocked his head, listening, before heading over to one of the windows.  
  
The only reason he didn’t burst into triumphant laughter was that the brunette was standing a few feet away from him. Dean was lying on his—wait, no, on _Sam’s_ bed, gripping the more-than-ample hips of the blonde who was riding him. His head was thrown back, lips barely parted, eyes closed.  
  
Sam couldn’t stop the grim satisfaction that overtook him when he considered that though his brother was having fun in Sam’s bed, he himself would be having even more fun in Dean’s car.   
  
He schooled his face into sobriety and turned around, regarding the girl with a serious expression. “My brother’s in there,” he whispered, jerking a thumb towards the door. “Son of a bitch that he is.”  
  
She was clearly disappointed. Good. “So where are we going to go?”  
  
_Now_ he let himself smile evilly. “Well, the car is pretty old. It’s got a roomy back seat.”  
  
She returned his smile with one of her own. “I like the way you think.”  
  
They returned to the car and Sam opened the car door, letting her crawl in first. When he joined her, she ran a tiny hand down his bicep. “So, you want to tell me why you’re really doing this?”  
  
He frowned. “Sorry, what?”  
  
“You’re not all that horny or you would’ve been mad, not happy,” she said, and that analytical tone that Sam himself used so often was clear in her tone. “And you and I both know that if you wanted great sex, you wouldn’t have picked _me_ up. So what exactly are you trying to prove?”  
  
“Nothing,” Sam said hastily. “I just…what can I say? You’re really hot.”  
  
“Bullshit,” she accused, and the word sounded foreign on her tongue. “But thanks.”  
  
They’d done enough talking, Sam decided, and he covered her mouth with their own. It was a gentle kiss, the kind he’d given Jess at the beginning of their relationship; and that thought made the old grief twinge painfully deep within him. Almost angrily, he unbuttoned her shirt and palmed her breast. It was small, pert—much less full than Jess’s had been. It brought him back to reality.  
  
He made quick work of her clothes and kissed his way down her body, reveling in the way she squirmed and moaned. Her skin grew slick with sweat, and he couldn’t help but reflect that the leather seats were being marked by someone _he_ was giving pleasure.  
  
She was skinny and dull, but when he’d undressed them both and was making his way down her body with all the gusto of six months’ celibacy, he didn’t care about how curvy or interesting she was. His cock was throbbing and he needed to be inside her _now._  
  
“God…please…” she whispered, wrapping her legs around his. “Just do it!”  
  
He left off torturing her clit with his tongue, sliding up her body and cupping her head in his hands as he kissed her deeply, giving her a taste of herself. She moaned and arched her back, letting his dick brush her wet center.  
  
Sam closed his eyes, trying not to think about soft blonde hair or solidly built muscles and piercing green eyes, and thrust into the girl beneath him.  
  
He’d gone through the motions of foreplay, but the fucking itself was quick, dirty, and wet. She was writhing, making weird keening noises while Sam had his face buried in her collarbone, hiding the fact that he still couldn’t open his eyes.  
  
Her body thumped against the leather seat. _Dean’s_ leather seat, and the perverse pleasure that thought gave him had him hardening and thrusting into her even harder.  
  
“Almost,” she moaned.   
  
He reached between them to tweak her clit. “Come on, come on,” he muttered, unsure whether he was talking to her or himself.  
  
“Nnnngh!” And she was gone, spasming around him. He thrust into her once, twice more, savoring the soft, warm wetness, before—  
  
“What the _fuck?_ ”  
  
Sam’s arousal disappeared so suddenly that he actually groaned with its loss. It was worse than being doused in freezing cold water: Dean had opened the Impala’s door and was sending his younger brother a look that would’ve stopped a demon in its tracks.   
  
The girl beneath him squeaked and pushed Sam off. He fell to the floor of the car as she rummaged for her clothes, smacking his head on the side of the front seat.  
  
“Jesus Christ, Dean! What the hell is your problem?” One hand hastily yanked up his pants as the other buttoned his shirt—not that it mattered, really, since Dean himself was shirtless and barefoot. And what kind of sicko barely even bothered to put on clothes before running outside to cockblock his little brother, anyway?  
  
“This is my car!” Now Dean reminded Sam of the mother bear they’d run into that one time in the Blue Ridge Mountains, except Dean had guns—right now, a distinctly frightening fact. “What the ever-lovin’ Christ do you think you’re doing, taking a girl out to my car?”  
  
“Oh, like you don’t do it all the time,” Sam spat, infuriated. “You brought a cheap lay back to our hotel room—where the hell else was I supposed to go?” Any other time he would’ve been embarrassed to say something so crass in front of a woman; now, even though the half-dressed blonde was standing right behind Dean and the little brunette was still sitting on the car seat, Sam’s world had narrowed to himself, Dean, and the Impala.  
  
“It’s _my car,_ ” the older Winchester repeated, glaring fit to beat the band. Or Sam’s face. “And do you even know this girl?”  
  
“Of course I do,” Sam said defensively. “Her name is—um—“ Crap.  
  
“Marie,” the girl cut in quickly. “And, actually, I was just leaving.” She climbed out of the car hastily, her shirt rumpled in her hands. Sam didn’t even offer to walk her home.  
  
Dean gave him one last death glare. “You get out of this car and I will whip your ass,” he threatened before slamming the door shut.  
  
Sam got back up on the seat, rubbing his head ruefully. Dean was outside, sending the blonde girl off, and he knew that he was going to get it as soon as the girl was gone. And away from the threat his brother presented, his dick was getting hard again—an event that was thoroughly unwelcome to Sam.  
  
His palm was pressed to his crotch purely to relieve some of the pressure when Dean opened the door again. Rather than dragging Sam out, like he’d thought he would, Dean climbed in.  
  
“Dude. That’s disgusting.” Dean knocked his hand away from his groin. “Now, what the hell was that?”  
  
“Well, it _was_ sex, until you got in the way.”   
  
“It was sex in the backseat of my car,” Dean pointed out for what felt like the millionth time in two excruciatingly long minutes. “You’re lucky I haven’t pounded your head into the pavement yet. I still might. You didn’t even know her name!”  
  
“Oh, like you knew the name of the girl you were fucking in my bed,” Sam snipped back.  
  
“I did so! Her name was—“ Dean paused in exactly the same manner Sam had.  
  
Sam meant to smirk smugly, but somehow it ended up as a wide grin. “We are so fucked up.”  
  
“Tell me about it.” Dean settled back comfortably. Exactly how long was he planning on staying there? “This was revenge for the thong, isn’t it?”  
  
“And the time you gave me a black eye for spilling Coke on the seat.”  
  
“Aw, shit, you deserved that.”  
  
“It was Coke, not the end of the world!”  
  
“It was Coke on my leather seats,” Dean corrected, petting the seat in question. Sam’s lip curled as he fought back laughter—he’d met parents who didn’t care as much about their kids as Dean did about this car. “That’s a whole different story.”  
  
“Yeah, whatever.” Sam leaned back, his head hitting the car’s interior with a hollow _thunk_. “Your timing really sucks, you know.”  
  
It was Dean’s turn to grin. “You were about to come, weren’t you?”  
  
“No,” Sam denied hastily, but the catch in his voice betrayed the truth. “Okay, maybe.”  
  
“Hah!” Dean crowed triumphantly. “I am the best brother ever.”  
  
“Right. I should’ve interrupted you and that blonde girl when I had the chance.” Sam scowled half-heartedly. “It would really kill you to let me get off, wouldn’t it?”  
  
“Maybe.” Before Sam had a chance to stop him, Dean darted out a foot and poked his erection with a toe. “Damn, Sammy. I almost feel sorry for you now.”  
  
The sensation that darted through his body at that touch had him gasping. “Don’t _do_ that!”  
  
“You are such a damn girl.” Dean pulled his toes back and rested the arch of his foot on Sam’s denim-covered hard on, pushing subtly. Too late, Sam realized that he was crammed up against the side of the car, and the only way out was across Dean’s sprawling body.  
  
“Seriously, cut it out,” he ordered—but his voice sounded so breathy that he really didn’t blame Dean for laughing before massaging his toes against that little space right above Sam’s dick. Suddenly Sam found himself gasping, his head thrown back.  
  
“See, you didn’t even do it right,” Dean said, his tone so irritatingly casual that if Sam weren’t paralyzed with lust, he would’ve decked him. “You were all bent up and shit—although I guess you’re so huge that sex in any car would be hard.” Sam didn’t bother to make fun of his bad pun. “And that girl you brought? Are you fucking blind?”  
  
“What was wrong with her?” Sam asked, arguing not so much because he disagreed with his brother as because anger was a great way to ignore…other things.  
  
“Better question: what wasn’t?”  
  
“Whatever. Man, this isn’t funny anymore.” Sam tried to shift away, but Dean leaned forward casually and blocked him. Sam tried not to wince when the foot that had been driving him crazy was planted solidly on the car floor. He didn’t miss it at fucking all, Goddammit.  
  
“What’s not funny?”  
  
“ _This._ ” He waved a hand wildly, accidentally smacking his hand into Dean’s chest. “The cockblock, and the foot, and the joking, and—“  
  
He could’ve gone on all night, but Dean launched himself forward and _slammed_ him against the car. Pain shot through him, and he couldn’t help but blurt out, “Dean, you’re gonna mess up your—“  
  
_Interior_ was on the tip of his tongue when Dean cut him off again by clapping a hand over his mouth.  
  
“I ever tell you that you talk too damn much, Sammy?”  
  
“Mfffbeee,” he mumbled into the rough skin mushing his lips.  
  
Dean’s lips—and Sam was _not_ thinking about how full they looked and how they’d feel sliding up and down his still hard cock, because that was just disgusting—curved into that smirk he’d been wearing for the better part of the night. “See, you’re still tryin’ to talk. What the hell is wrong with you?”  
  
Sam knocked his hand away, which of course he could’ve done at any time. It wasn’t that he liked the feel of Dean’s hand, or anything. He was just…still horny because of the girl. Yeah, that was it.  
  
But the word slipped out of his mouth anyway. Dean was right—he had to work on that. “ _You._ ”  
  
For a second tension filled the car. They both went completely still, staring at each other like their gazes had somehow been Superglued together, and in the back of his mind Sam thought wildly that sound must be amplified inside cars, because they were both breathing loud enough to wake the dead.  
  
Then something broke. Whether it was just inside Sam or inside Dean, too, he’d probably never know; all he knew what that one moment their eyes were skittering across each other, ignoring the intensity of one another’s gaze, and the next second, they were kissing.  
  
It should have been harsh, with the anger flowing through them: teeth clashing and hands gripping shoulders too tightly. But it wasn’t. Their lips met softly, almost hesitantly, in what was more of an exploration than a kiss. Dean’s hands slid behind Sam’s face, holding his neck gently, and Sam somehow found his hands running down Dean’s back and behind, cupping his ass and scooting him forward until their (unfortunately still clothed) erections brushed one another. To his near-shock, Dean went forward eagerly, one hand leaving Sam’s neck to push up his shirt and splay across his back.  
  
He kissed Dean carefully, some part of him perversely insisting that Dean was more volatile than the girl he’d just been with, though he knew Dean’d wipe the proverbial mat with his ass if he was privy to the thought. His arms were holding Dean as gently as if he’d break, and even when he caught Dean’s lower lip with his teeth, sucking it into his mouth, he was careful. Dean moaned, and he could’ve sworn he felt the vibration through his own body, but he didn’t grip him tighter, didn’t smash their lips together the way he almost wanted to. He was as firmly in control as he’d ever been.  
  
Then Dean traced his upper lip with his tongue, and Sam found himself leaning back and letting his brother enter his mouth, reciprocating in a manner that would have been lazy if it weren’t for the emotion that he knew they both felt.  
  
Slowly, the kiss became deeper, more intense, until they were sharing kisses like Sam hadn’t experienced since those first confused, hormone-filled days of high school. He was clutching Dean’s hips much more tightly than he consciously meant to, and Dean—Dean was grinding into his lap like his life depended on the movement.  
  
“Mmm.” Dean was _purring_ when they separated for air. Sam burst out laughing.  
  
His brother looked offended. “What?”  
  
“We were just kissing like horny teenagers, and then you—you sounded like a cat,” he explained, grinning widely.  
  
He expected a cuff across the ear, because that was just how Dean acted—but instead Dean smiled slyly. “Yeah? Don’t cats rub up against people a lot?”   
  
“Um. You’re weird.”  
  
“Says you.” Suddenly Dean was nuzzling him, and all Sam’s coherent thought went flying out the window. His brother’s face was full of stubble, scratchy and tickling, and he’d probably have razor burn all along his neck soon—but with Dean’s tongue and teeth working over his neck, teasing his collarbone, he didn’t care.  
  
If he’d ever doubted that his brother had superhuman powers, those doubts were expelled when he found himself lying back on the Impala’s cool leather seat, his knees in the air and Dean’s mouth planting wet kisses down his bare chest.   
  
“Jesus Christ…Dean…”  
  
“Last time I checked I wasn’t hanging on a cross—lucky for you,” he added, pausing to open Sam’s pants. “Please tell me you used a condom with library girl.”  
  
“Did you use one with the blonde?”  
  
Dean just gave him a Look, the kind he’d perfected when Sam used to spout off random shit he’d memorized from textbooks in hopes of intimidating the not-so-book-smart half of the family. It hadn’t worked. “Answer the question.”  
  
Sam pointed wordlessly to the car floor where a condom lay, shiny and clearly used.  
  
“That’s just nasty, man,” Dean said flatly. “You are damn lucky you didn’t come in that thing. I’d—“  
  
“Kick my ass, I know.”  
  
“Well, I was gonna say I would rip your dick off, but yeah.”  
  
Sam grimaced and moved a protective hand over his crotch. “I’d really appreciate it if you could skip that part of the evening, thanks.”  
  
Dean cocked his head, his expression shifting from mirth to solemnity. “What exactly is ‘this evening’, anyway?”  
  
Sam swallowed audibly. “Well, you’ve got your hand on my dick.”  
  
The look Dean gave him could have melted half of fucking Antarctica. It would’ve made Ann Rice stop thinking she was Queen of the Undead and go prancing in a field of daises at noon. It would’ve made Fidel Castro step down as dictator of Cuba. It would’ve—  
  
Sam ran out of comparisons when his brother took that muscled hand of his (because Sam might’ve gotten the big hands, but Dean’s could squeeze like nobody’s business) and cupped his cock, squeezing it through the denim. “So I do.” He flattened his hand so that his palm rubbed against the bulge. Sam was embarrassed when a strangled sound that really didn’t belong in any human throat burst from his mouth.  
  
Dean looked amused, which of course made it worse. “What’s the matter, Sammy? Am I getting to you?”  
  
There was fire running through his veins and he was pretty sure that he wouldn’t be able to walk straight even if the legions of hell decided to attack the Impala right fucking then, but at that moment, Sam decided that enough was _fucking well enough._ Gritting his teeth with the effort it took, he pushed Dean away as hard as he could. The shorter Winchester launched backwards, conking his head on the back of the seat.   
  
Whether he was dizzy from his brother giving him an almost-handjob or he was just slightly insane, which at this point he wasn’t going to rule out, Sam was unable to stop the forward momentum he’d begun when he pushed Dean off. Instead he landed at Dean’s feet in a tangle of limbs, his right knee wedged under the seat, legs spread wide, and his mouth—  
  
Holy shit. His mouth was about two inches from Dean’s suddenly bare cock.  
  
Dean smirked. “Well, Sammy, what are you waiting for?”  
  
The floor under the seat, Sam noted absently, was at odds with the rest of the car—meaning that it was completely gross. Candy bar wrappers, dirty magazines, and he really didn’t want to know what that green goo was.  
  
Wait. Dean was looking at him expectantly, and Sam remembered the reason behind their sudden change in position. He’d wanted to take charge, or something. Sort of hard to remember, actually, with Dean’s dick bobbing in his face like that.  
  
“You’re obscene, did you know?” Because Dean had in fact been humping thin air.  
  
But before Dean had a chance to respond, or even give Sam one of those smarmy looks that he was irritatingly good at, Sam sucked in a breath and went for it.  
  
His mouth was wet from all the kissing, which he guessed was a good thing judging by the way Dean gasped and arched up and murmured, _Holy fuck, Sammy._ And apparently Dean liked the way he gripped the base of his cock, since he made a little moaning noise and ground his hips upward. Sam shut his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose and slowly working his way down, flexing his throat muscles. If he could ignore deep wounds on a hunt, he could deep throat a dick, right?  
  
Wrong. He started gagging convulsively—Dean yanked himself back like he’d been burned.  
  
“Fuck, Sam, if I wanted to kill you I would’ve grabbed a gun.”  
  
Sam could feel himself blushing, and _hell_ but that pissed him off. “Sorry.”  
  
“’s okay.” Dean cocked his head. “How tall are you?”  
  
It was a complete non sequitor, but Sam answered anyway—because that was how it was with him and Dean, and he got the feeling that sex wasn’t going to change that. “Um. Six four?”  
  
It was Dean’s turn to look like someone had smacked him upside the head. “And you’re folding yourself up down there how?”  
  
“My feet are sort of under the sea—“  
  
He didn’t even get a chance to finish, because Dean had hauled him up and pinned him to the seat again in the blink of an eye.  
  
“Under the seat hasn’t been cleaned since Dad bought this damn thing,” he said matter-of-factly. “No way are you gonna touch anything under there.”  
  
“Why not? I was trying to blow you, remember?” And he really didn’t know why he was doing this. Neither did his dick, actually—it was still pressing against his zipper, and it was starting to hurt worse than the two-day-old cut on the side of his head.  
  
“Yeah, well, how the hell am I supposed to kiss every inch of you or some romantic bullshit like that if you’ve got two decades of muck all over you?” Dean demanded. He lay back against the seat again, curling his legs around Sam and arching his back so that his cock jutted up, red and angry.  
  
It was definitely a smirk that graced his face when he pillowed his arms behind his head and said, “ _Now_ you can blow me.”  
  
The visual made Sam suck his breath in. The words actually made him whimper. “Yeah, okay.”  
  
It was hard to arrange himself so that his mouth could come even close to its target without Sam falling off the seat in a flailing heap of limbs. In the end he had to settle on bracing himself against the side of the car, his feet poking out at uncomfortable angles and his knees bent so that his legs stuck sideways into the air. Not exactly the ideal position—but when he kissed the head of Dean’s cock and his brother’s head slammed back with an audible _thunk,_ it was definitely good enough for him.  
  
This time he was smart enough not to try anything fancy; not that it mattered, since having Sam’s mouth anywhere near him seemed to drive Dean up the wall. When he swept his tongue along the underside of Dean’s cock, his older brother whispered _fuck, Sam,_ and rubbed a hand in his hair. That same hand just about yanked the hair out of his head when he cupped Dean’s balls and tongued his slit.  
  
“HolyfuckingvirginMarysonuva _bitch_ \--“  
  
And he was gone.  
  
Sam swallowed with a smile on his face, fighting back either a laugh of pure glee or a moan of pure lust; at that moment, he really wasn’t sure which would win out, because Dean was on his back with his eyes closed, arching his neck back as far as it would go, and Sam really wanted to tie him up and make sure he stayed that way for the next eternity or so. The tendons in his neck stood out and the hand that wasn’t gripping Sam’s head was grasping blindly at the front seat, frantically scrabbling for a good grip on something. And the sounds he made—fuck. He hadn’t made them with the blonde. He’d never moaned and groaned and keened and babbled praises to the blonde girl, but when he lost himself in Sam’s mouth, he did exactly that.  
  
Sam loved his brother—that was pretty much a given. But it was entirely possible that he fell in love with blowing his brother that night in the car as he watched Dean lose any semblance of control.  
  
Dean pretty much passed out after that, and Sam took the opportunity to rid himself of his hastily-yanked-on clothing. He stroked his cock absently as he watched his brother, thinking that it really made sense to carry Dean inside…but no. It was a moment he wanted to keep for as long as possible: the tough as nails, rebel without a discernible cause lying there, hair mussed, shirt nowhere to be found, pants around his ankles. The fact that he was lying inside his car, the very car that he loved so much and that currently had more than one scratch on the interior from all the messing around they’d been doing—  
  
Sam gripped the base of his dick tightly, willing himself not to come.   
  
The one thing he couldn’t figure out was why they hadn’t done this sooner.  
  
“Because you’re a pussy,” Dean muttered, and Sam realized that he’d spoken aloud.  
  
“Shut up.” His voice was tight; he was close enough to the edge that the sound of Dean’s voice was almost enough to send him off. “You’re the one who came running outside barefoot to keep me from coming inside that girl.”  
  
“Damn right I did. You’re gonna come inside anyone, it’ll be me. Got that?”  
  
“ _Shit._ ” He gave his dick another short tug, letting his eyes fall closed at the sensation that rushed through him. Dean’s overly possessive crap really shouldn’t have such an effect on him—but then, so much tonight had happened when it never should have that Sam really didn’t know why he was so surprised.   
  
“Hunh.” He could almost feel Dean’s eyes traveling over him. “You don’t look very comfortable there.”  
  
“You think?” Sam asked sarcastically. “I’ve only had a hard-on for an hour now.”  
  
Dean winced sympathetically. “Ouch,” he said, not moving a muscle.  
  
“Dean.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Are you going to get me off or what?” He sounded _impatient,_ Sam decided. Not whiny at all.  
  
The look on Dean’s face could’ve sent a veteran hooker running for cover. He reached down into the pockets of his jeans, which still restrained his ankles, and grabbed the tube of lube there.  
  
“Now, the chance of me lettin’ you fuck me are—oh—one in a million,” he said cheerfully. “But hey, if you wanna just grease yourself up, I won’t complain.” _I eat babies for breakfast,_ his smile added.  
  
“You’re sick,” Sam informed him. “How the hell am I supposed to fuck myself on you, anyway? You’re not even hard.”  
  
Dean shut his eyes lazily. “Guess you got some convincing to do, huh?”  
  
He should’ve shoved the lube up Dean’s ass, gone back into the motel room, and finished the job himself. But he was stopped by the tensing of Dean’s muscles, the way his eyes shifted rapidly beneath the lids.  
  
Dean had brought down a werewolf with a silver butter knife. He’d faced down a ghost playing at being the “boogeyman” when he was ten—and won. He’d even kicked a gryphon’s ass on one memorable occasion.  
  
But right now, lying on his own back seat, he was nervous, maybe even frightened. And Sam knew he couldn’t leave.   
  
“You know,” he muttered, hoping to relieve some of the tension in the air, “if you were going to trade STDs with some sleazy girl, you could at least have done it on your own bed,” he murmured.  
  
Dean’s nose wrinkled. “Oh, yeah. Sorry ‘bout that.”  
  
“Mm.” Sam reached out slowly and brushed his fingers across Dean’s chest. Dean jerked involuntarily, jaw tightening. “D’you like that?”  
  
“Nowhere I _wouldn’t_ like,” he said—and his legs, which had been lying lax on either side of Sam, wrapped around his body once again, this time tightening like a vise. “But you know, there’s one place in particular that you’re gonna have to touch if we want to do this.”  
  
Sam fought to keep from laughing. “Oh, really? That sounds like a challenge to me.”  
  
Even nervous as hell, Dean was still a cocky bastard. “If a professional hooker can’t get me up for the second time in a night that quickly without touching, then you sure as fuck can’t, little bro.”  
  
“Fuck, huh? Well, that’s the whole point.” His confidence abruptly returned, he continued, “what if I told you that I only brought the girl back here so I could screw her in your car?”  
  
Dean twitched, but his dick remained soft. Dammit, he was actually going to make an effort to keep it that way. Son of a bitch.  
  
“It smells like you—the car, I mean.” Sam leaned forward and licked a bead of sweat from Dean’s abdomen. “Leather, sweat…old grease,” he added with a smile.  
  
“Dickwad.”  
  
Sam ignored him. “And did you know I couldn’t look at the girl? I had to close my eyes. The smell of the car was bringing me off more than anything else.”  
  
Dean shuddered again. Bingo.   
  
“Does that turn you one?” Now Sam’s voice was low and accompanied by one finger slowly trailing down Dean’s jawbone. “Do you like thinking about me fucking some other girl, keeping you in my mind the whole time?”  
  
“What the hell do you think? Of course it turns me on,” Dean snapped.  
  
He was getting crabbier, which made Sam chuckle. “Calm down,” he ordered gently. “I might come again if you don’t.”  
  
“What the fu—“  
  
“Like you didn’t know.” He pushed Dean’s legs further apart, settling comfortably in between them. “Standing there barefoot and glowering at me.” Even now, his dick jumped at the thought. Thank God for Winchester stubbornness, he thought, because his dick literally ached and Dean wasn’t even half hard yet. If he didn’t get off soon, there was a chance he’d come all over the car, or do something even more humiliating like bursting into tears.  
  
So he upped the ante a bit.  
  
Instead of crouching in between Dean’s legs, Sam gripped Dean’s back and hauled him upright so that Dean was again sitting in his lap—except this time, he made sure he’d be in control.  
  
Dean opened his eyes when he felt Sam grabbing his wrists. “What exactly are you doing?”  
  
“Grab the back of the seat,” Sam ordered. It placed Dean’s hands at an awkward angle. Good. “And don’t let go.”  
  
Then he attacked Dean’s mouth with his own.  
  
This kiss was deep and sure, no longer tainted by disbelief or doubt of any kind. Sam’s hands were gripping Dean’s head like he might die if Dean moved away, and his tongue was exploring Dean’s mouth expertly. His brother was tart and tangy and just this side of violent as he kissed Sam back, his head angled backwards with the force of the kiss.  
  
When he pulled away, they were both panting.  
  
“Dude, I _taught_ you that,” Dean said, sounding vaguely offended. “The tongue thing. That was my move.”  
  
Sam grinned wryly. “Did you know when you taught me that I thought about using it on you?”  
  
“That kind of kinky shit doesn’t work on me, Sam.”  
  
Sam nodded downwards; he could feel Dean’s erection growing against his stomach, brushing against his own—and at the image, he couldn’t hold back a groan. “He says differently.”   
  
“Well, he’s not—“  
  
Sam’s hand slid it lower, down Dean’s back and over his ass. He ran a large finger around Dean’s opening, pushing in roughly.  
  
Dean bucked in Sam’s lap, nostrils flaring. The leather of the seat in front of them crinkled with the force of his grip. “ _Fuck._ Yeah, okay, lube me up.”  
  
Grinning triumphantly, Sam squeezed some of the lube onto his hand. He was reaching down towards Dean’s cock when its owner said, “How the hell did you get into the smart boys’ school? The hole is on the other side, genius.”  
  
Sam paused, confused. “Wait. I thought you wanted to fuck me.”  
  
“Changed my mind,” Dean said briskly. “So lube me up, already.”  
  
Well. He wasn’t going to pretend the change of events didn’t please him. Sam obeyed hurriedly, drawing his hand back when Dean kicked him with his heel and informed him that he wasn’t a pussy, he could take it without a million years of prep.   
  
“Now, how’re we gonna do this?” he mused. “Got it. Sit back.”  
  
“Wait, what?”   
  
Dean rolled his eyes, looking for all the world like he was a pissy teenager again. “Dude, how dumb do you have to be? Sit back, like you would normally.”  
  
Sam obeyed hesitantly, turning around till his back rested against the leather of the seat. His legs were spread wide, his view of the Impala’s windshield obscured by the mass of muscle that deposited itself in his lap.  
  
“Good. Now lube yourself up, dumbass.”  
  
“If you’re so eager to start, you do it,” Sam shot back.  
  
“You’d come if I so much as touched you right now. Just do it already.” He dug around in his pocket and drew out a condom. “Here.”  
  
Dean was probably right, Sam mused when he rolled the condom on and gripped his cock with a slick hand. Just touching it himself made him feel— _Jesus,_ and with Dean looking—Sam bit his lip and moaned, cupping his balls with his other hand.  
  
“Much though I’d like to watch, the point is to bring both of us off. Remember?”  
  
Sam opened eyes he didn’t even notice he’d closed, sheepish flush already rising in his cheeks, only to find Dean watching him fondly. “Sorry.”  
  
“Yeah, whatever. Let’s do this thing.”  
  
Dean linked his arms around Sam’s neck, and Sam knew he’d be using this moment as ammunition for weeks, because Dean’s face was intent with concentration and he was nibbling his bottom lip and fitting himself onto Sam like a fucking _girl._  
  
But then his dick made contact with Dean’s ass, and he was gone.  
  
It was slow but not as slow as it could have been, because despite Dean’s protests, Sam had been careful to make sure he wouldn’t hurt his brother. And Dean was a more than enthusiastic participant—within two seconds of them starting, Sam’s head was thrown back against the leather seat, his Adam’s apple bobbing wildly with every inch that Dean moved downwards as he fought not to come right then and there.  
  
Slowly, slowly, Dean lowered himself until he was as close to Sam as it was possible to be.  
  
Sam could’ve come right then and there—shit, he _wanted_ to, merciless taunting be damned. But he was gripping Dean’s shoulders and Dean was nuzzling his neck, hitting that spot _right there_ that he hadn’t even known existed till some random girl discovered it his freshman year of college, and suddenly he didn’t want to waste eight years of fantasies on two seconds of bliss.   
  
“Wait.”  
  
His voice was throaty and stretched the word out to twice its normal length, and somehow that seemed to work for Dean. The muscles around his dick tightened.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I wanna do this right.” He moved till he was upright again and embracing Dean, his mouth level with that spot right behind Dean’s ear. He teased it with his tongue and Dean moaned. “Dude, please tell me I can move.”  
  
Sam licked the stubble on his jaw. “Go ahead.”  
  
Instead of moving upwards, like Sam had expected—and that would’ve been enough simulation to kill him, really—Dean moved in a _circle_ , grunting as he did.  
  
Fire shot through Sam, the culmination of repressed lust and too many years of fantasies. His eyes flew shut again and a long, broken moan escaped from his mouth. To his shame, it ended on a whimper.  
  
“Shh.” A soothing hand pressed against his cheek; it was Dean’s turn to offer comfort. “You’re okay, Sam.”  
  
“If I don’t explode,” he muttered.  
  
Dean laughed at that. “You’ll be fine. Ever done this before?”  
  
“Um. I was on the receiving end.” That had been sophomore year, and the guy had been short and brunette with a pair of green eyes that Sam had ignored as much as he could.  
  
“Shit.” Dean began moving up and down, then, making Sam gasp with shock. “How ‘bout I make you forget about the bastard, then?”  
  
Jealousy? “Dean, he—“  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“He looked like you,” Sam admitted, squeezing his eyes shut.  
  
The same stillness overtook the car that had before they’d kissed that first time, what seemed like an eternity ago; and now their lips met again, Dean pressing himself up against Sam as closely as possible.   
  
Lips still joined, they moved together; first at a slow, languorous pace that had starts exploding behind Sam’s eyes, and then fast, until he was babbling _Dean_ and _Jesus fuck,_ and obscenities that he didn’t even know he knew until they came out of his mouth.  
  
He was losing it rapidly, his world again shrinking to Dean and the car and the symphony of overwrought metaphors that seemed to be going on inside his own body. He tightened his arms around Dean and thrust upward; Dean’s downward strokes were hard enough to shove him back in the seat.  
  
“Sam,” Dean ground out.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Now would be the time for you to touch my cock.”  
  
So he did, gripping it tightly and inexpertly, so far gone in the feelings surrounding him that technique was a word he barely even remembered. Whatever he did must have worked, though, because Dean started babbling.   
  
“Fuck, Sammy, just a little bit more—God yeah. You like that, don’t you? You like your big brother fucking himself on your cock. You—uungh!—want it harder, you want more.”  
  
“So shut up and give it to me,” Sam panted. Their mouths met again, wet and sloppy, and Sam used his brother’s distraction to twist his hand almost cruelly, rubbing a his finger over the tip of Dean’s cock.  
  
Dean’s eyes flew open, catching Sam’s shock written all over his face. “ _Sam_ —“  
  
And he was gone.  
  
Sam shut his eyes tightly and let go with him, losing himself in the muscles spasming around his dick, in the come splashing on his stomach and running down to the seat. Chest heaving, hands shaking, he lay his head down on the crook of Dean’s neck and inhaled deeply—not trying to forget who he was, like with the girl, but ensuring that he’d remember this. Remember the warmth of Dean’s body in his arms, the musky smell of sweat and come and just _Dean._   
  
They collapsed together, sweaty foreheads touching. Normally it would have been unbearably disgusting to Sam, but right now he savored the closeness. It was proof of a sort, that he hadn’t lost himself and his brother when they’d gone flying off the proverbial cliff together.  
  
“That was…”  
  
“Messed up?” Sam offered.  
  
“Well, I was going to say hot.”  
  
“That too.” It was the relief that made him lean down and kiss Dean one last time, tangling tongue and lips in mutual understand. Just relief.   
  
They finally parted, Sam wrinkling his nose when he saw the state of the now very used condom. Still, he pulled it off, knotted it, and tossed it on the floor.   
  
Dean winced. “Man, we messed it up good in here.”  
  
Sam shifted to the side so that the sticky spot lay between the two of them instead of between his legs. “We really, really did.”  
  
To his surprise, Dean started laughing again.  
  
“What?” Sam asked, startled.  
  
“Man, I’ve been wantin’ to do that for a long time.” His smile was infectious; Sam found himself grinning like an idiot, too. “Least there’s no wet spot on the bed inside.”  
  
“Yeah.” Sam leaned back comfortably, casually stretching an arm over and pulling Dean close to him. To avoid the sticky spot on the seat, Dean all but plopped himself in Sam’s lap.  
  
“So, how many condoms you got left?” he asked, tracing the shell of Sam’s ear with his tongue.  
  
Sam’s laughter shook the whole car.  
  
|~|~|  
 


End file.
